


i'd run away with you if i could

by xphantomhive



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blind!John, Cuddling, Kissing, M/M, adorable boys being gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7089265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/xphantomhive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're pretty sure you're kind-of-dating Dave, but you don't ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd run away with you if i could

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vulpin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpin/gifts), [HappylittleJohnEgbert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappylittleJohnEgbert/gifts), [FadingArchive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadingArchive/gifts), [supercuteandhellaqueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercuteandhellaqueer/gifts).



> ilsane: you don't kudos everything i write, but you kudos a whole damn lot - from what i've seen, at least. never once have you commented on any of my works, but that's perfectly fine! i just want you to know that i'm very thankful for you, and i am so glad that you enjoy my fanfiction. i write to make other people happy and to make myself happy, so seeing someone kudos more than one thing i've written is such a good feeling. i want you to know how good the feeling is by giving you something in return for your kindness.
> 
> HappylittleJohnEgbert: you've read my fanfiction since the beginning, which in itself is an achievement. you've never commented on anything, and i want you to know that it's perfectly okay to do that! people are always worried about commenting on my stuff because they don't want to be annoying, but i want you to know that commenting would NEVER annoy me! i love comments, even if they're long-winded, and i read every single one of them and make sure to give personal thanks to the person who left the comment! but i want you to know that i am so so thankful for you, since you've been around since the beginning and even left kudos on my first fanfic - which, was shit, by the way. thank you so much for sticking with my writing for over a year!
> 
> FadingArchive: you kudos a lot of stuff i write. a lot lot. thank you so much for that! it's such a great feeling to see someone's name repeated on the bottom of the page where the kudos lie, and i want you to know how much i appreciate it! you've never commented on anything i've written and that is perfectly okay with me, i just want you to know how thankful i am for you! thank you so so much!
> 
> the_last_misfit_toy: you've been around since the beginning. you left kudos on my first fanfic, and then pretty much every one thereafter. you've bookmarked multiple fics of mine. after a while, i start to notice. you've stuck with me since the beginning, and i want you to know that i am so, so thankful for that! not a lot of people stick with me, but there are a few who really, really invest themselves in my fanfiction, and you're one of them! i am very thankful for all of my readers, especially if they've stuck around that long! and my first fanfic even, whew. that was so ooc and overall just a piece of garbage, i'm sorry you had to suffer through that (same thing goes for HappylittleJohnEgbert) overall, i'm just very thankful for you and though you never comment on my things, just - thank you so much!

Your mom is out for the day. For any normal blind boy, that would probably be a huge issue. For you, it’s pretty much the biggest relief you’ve had in weeks. Then again, your mom isn’t exactly like other mothers. From what she’s described to you about herself and the bits and pieces of radio interviews you’ve heard, she’s six feet tall (a whole foot taller than you), she wears a pink and black wetsuit all of the time, and she has brown hair that reaches all the way to her thighs. Something that’s a little more notable, though, is that she’s had you locked in your room for the past six years. Yes, that’s right. Your name is John Egbert, and you’ve been locked in your bedroom since your tenth birthday. Your mom only lets you out when it’s time for a meal.

You’d say that you don’t mind, but you really do. Mom tells you that she’s only keeping you locked inside for your own protection, but you’re really starting to doubt that. You didn’t when you were ten, but when you turned thirteen, you truly started doubting that you were being kept inside your room 24/7 for your own protection. You know that your mom has ulterior motives, you just don’t know what those motives are.

You’ve felt around your room over and over again. You know that on the right side of the room, there’s a window, and that it’s the only one there. You know that your bed is in the middle of the room, and that there’s a table next to it. You know there’s a clock on the wall because it ticks, but you’ve never been able to feel high enough for it. You are only five feet tall, after all. You know that your bathroom is right across from your bed, and that the shower is in the corner of the room. You know that there’s a mirror, a toilet, and a sink in the bathroom. You know that inside of your bedroom, there’s a chair in the lefthand corner. The fabric feels old and worn out. You know that there’s a hole in it somewhere.

You also know that if you tap on your wall three times, the neighbor answers you.

Since your mom is out for the day, you flop back onto your bed and tap three times against the wall. “Yes?” You hear, and you smile. Your neighbor is Rose Lalonde. She’s explained to you that she’s five foot five, she has blonde hair that touches her chin, she wears black lipstick, and her eyes are violet. You’ve never seen colors before, but you’d bet violet is a really pretty one. “Is your mother out for the day, John?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and it sounds like relief. You fall against your headboard and throw your hands over your stomach. You know that your bed is pretty nice, and that the headboard is made out of thick, expensive wood. “I’m so happy. She hasn’t been out for the whole day in weeks. Which is kinda unbelievable, when you think about it, because her gunky makeup has been selling pretty well. She tells me about it every night at dinner.”

Rose hums. “And what about her cakes? Have those been selling well? I’d bet people say that she, ‘simply can’t bake like Betty could.’”

You nod before realizing that Rose can’t even see you. “They’ve been selling okay. They sold a lot better when grandma was around to bake them. They also sold a lot better when my dad was around to help bake them, but.” But, indeed. Your dad died when you were nine, leaving you in the custody of your mother. You don’t even know what her name is, but you know that it isn’t Betty. You also know that it isn’t Jane, because apparently Jane is your cousin who is the heiress to Crockercorp, even though you’re technically next in line. You like to think that your dad would be throwing a fit about you not being the heir, but you can’t say you mind. You kind of hate cake, actually. It makes you sick.

“Say, John, what’d you do if you had a friend who wasn’t separated from you by a wall?”

You sigh wistfully. “Hug them a lot, probably. I wish mom would let you come over, but she’s really strict about her ‘no outsiders’ rule. Unless they’re her outsiders, of course. I’ve heard her and her girlfriend through the wall a few times. It’s pretty disgusting, especially when you’re blind. They say you have a heightened sense of hearing. At least, that’s what my mom says, but I’ve learned not to trust everything she says after all of these years.”

“Actually, it’s quite true that those who are blind have a heightened sense of hearing,” Rose responds. You hear her shift on her bed, then she’s drumming her fingers against the wall to the tune of a song you’ve heard on the radio a few times. “It’s said that all of the senses of a blind person are heightened. Have you heard this song before, John?”

“A few times, I think,” you return. You try to tap along, but you haven’t heard the song enough times to really know it. “What’s it called?”

Rose sighs. “I can’t seem to remember.”

You hear a phone ring, and Rose tells you that she has to go pick it up because it might be her girlfriend. You’ve heard quite a lot about Rose’s girlfriend. Her name is Aranea, and Rose thinks she might be the daughter of your mom’s own girlfriend, whose name you don’t know. You know from things you’ve heard about Aranea that she’s short and pudgy with bright blue eyes and short blonde hair. Rose tells you that she also wears pointy, white glasses. While Rose is gone, you get up off of your bed and pace around the room. You’ve taught yourself where everything is, and you know exactly where each piece of clothing you’ve just thrown aside is, so you don’t trip over anything while you walk.

You hear a tapping coming from somewhere after about five minutes. You know it’ll drive you crazy if you don’t find the source of it, so you circle the room until you find the place where it sounds the loudest: the window. You push it open with both hands and as you lean your head out, you feel something hit you right in the middle of your forehead. Was it a rock? You think it might’ve been a rock. It didn’t really hurt. You hear, “Shit, fuck,” and some rustling, and then there’s a voice right outside of your window saying, “Hey."

You’d try your best to act scared, but the only human you’ve ever interacted with is your mother, and all of your interactions with her are terrible and you only wish for them to be over while they’re happening. “Um, hello? Who are you? I’m kind of blind, in case you couldn’t tell by the colorless eyes.”

“Right, Rose told me you were blind. Okay, my name is Dave Strider, and I’m here to be your friend. Is that creepy? If that sounded as creepy to you as it did to me, it sounded exceptionally creepy. Fuck, okay. I’m not a psycho killer, I swear. I was sent here by my sister Rose who said you needed a real life friend, and apparently your mom knows exactly who she is and she’s banned from your house or something?”

You laugh. “Hello, Dave Strider. My name is John Egbert. Would you mind describing yourself to me? It’s the first thing I always ask new people to do.”

“Right, okay,” he says, and it sounds like he’s breathless. You wonder if he climbed the tree that your mom says is outside of your room - the one she told you she’d cut down so something like this wouldn’t happen. “I have blonde hair. My skin is really pale, and I have freckles over the bridge of my nose. I also have a pair of sunglasses on, pretty much all of the time. Do you need to feel my face or something like that?”

“Yeah,” you say, even though you don’t really need to feel his face because you’d pretty much pictured him mentally as soon as he’d described himself. You only said yeah so that you’d be able to have human contact with someone other than your mother. You reach forward and touch the side of his face; he’s cold. “Why are you so cold?”

“It’s fifty degrees outside and I ran here. Also, it’s really windy.”

You find yourself laughing again. You haven’t felt this comfortable talking to someone since you started talking with Rose. “You didn’t have to run here. I’m locked in my room and I’m blind, it isn’t like I’m going anywhere.”

Dave laughs this time. You hold your hand out for him, a sign that you’re letting him into your bedroom. You hope he smiles when he puts his hand in yours. You pull him into your room as carefully as possible and try to listen carefully in case he falls, and when you hear his feet hit the floor of your bedroom you stop listening and shut the window. “So it probably wasn’t my brightest idea letting a complete stranger into my room, but you said something about Rose sending you?”

“Yeah. Rose Lalonde. Your next door neighbor. She’s my sister. She told me that you’re all alone here aside from your bitchy mother, so I guess I’m here to be your cuddle buddy or some shit like that? I don’t know, she offered to pay me twenty bucks if I came over here. Not that I wouldn’t have even if she hadn’t have paid me! Ugh, shit, I already fucked this up didn’t I? You don’t have to not be blind to see how much I fucked this up.”

You giggle. “You didn’t fuck anything up. You’re doing fine. I’ve never had human interaction other than Rose, so I have nothing to compare this to and I’ll never really know if you’re fucking up or not. You said something about being my cuddle buddy? That I’d totally be in for, I haven’t cuddled with anyone since I was a little kid.”

You don’t get a response for a few seconds, and you wouldn’t doubt that Dave nodded at you. Even your mom has done that before. You can tell when people do, because there’s a little pause in what they’re saying, and then they remember that you’re blind and start talking to you instead of nodding. “I guess we can cuddle. Are you sure you want to do that with a complete stranger, though? What if I murder you and take all of your shit?”

You drag Dave over to your bed by his hand instead of answering and flop down. He sounds like the awkward type by his voice, so he’s probably trying to figure out a proper way to go about cuddling. You shuffle toward him and wrap your arms around his midsection, resting your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you hesitantly. You reach your hand back and tap on the wall three times, and you get a response of, “Yes, John?”

“Your creepy stalker friend is here,” you say. “Dave Strider?”

“Ah, yes. My brother. Are you quite fond of him yet?”

“Rose, it’s been like, five minutes. Give me time. I am cuddling with him, though.”

You think, if you could see her, Rose would be smiling. “Good.”

;;

Dave comes over a lot over the next month. He comes over even when your mom isn’t out. You know he can see her car in the driveway and that he knows he should probably stay away when she’s there, but he tells you he doesn’t care if she finds him here. “Why don’t you care if my mom’s here when you come over?” You ask one night. Your mom only went to bed a few minutes ago, and you know that she’s probably up reading a fashion magazine. You’re trying to keep your voice down. “She would probably shoot you dead, dude.”

Dave chuckles. “Shoot me dead, huh?” He returns. You punch him in the arm. Or, you try to, at least. Judging by the noise he made, you’re pretty sure you punched him in the chest. You apologize even though you’re blind and you can’t see where you’re hitting. “I dunno. Maybe I have a thing for you, blind little John Egbert.”

You crinkle your nose. “Don’t call me that. That’s weird. What do you mean, ‘a thing’?”

“A thing is pretty simple to understand. I have a thing for you. I want to kiss your face and shit. It’s pretty easy to understand, dude.”

“Don’t talk so loud,” you tell him. “If you wanted to kiss my face, you just should’ve said so.”

You’d bet he opened his mouth to give some kind of witty remark, but you’re already leaning forward and pushing your mouths together before he can. He gasps against your mouth, and you laugh into his. The kiss is sloppy because you’re only sixteen and you’ve never kissed anyone before, but he responds to it all the same. It only takes a few minutes for his hands to make their way to your face. You break the kiss first, but keep your forehead pressed to his. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here,” he says. “Tonight. Be ready. I’ll be back soon, I’m going to get shit.”

He leaves, and you’re left sitting on your bed in surprise. You tap against the wall three times as quietly as you possibly can, and like always, Rose says, “Yes, John?”

“Your brother said something about getting me out of here tonight. Should I believe him?”

Rose laughs. You hear her click the lamp in her bedroom off. You don’t know much about Rose’s bedroom, but you do know that she has a lamp, because the first time she clicked it off you asked her what it was and she told you. “Dave is a bit out there, so I’d say yes, believe his words wholeheartedly. I’m going to sleep now, John. Have a nice time escaping.”

Your head kind of hurts because you’re so excited. You cross your room as silent as a mouse and rifle through your closet in search of a suitcase, which you find after a few misguided attempts. You start shoving random clothes into it. That only takes you a few minutes. You sit on your windowsill once the bag is all packed, swinging your legs. Your mom must be asleep; she’s such a heavy sleeper that you could probably light the house on fire and she wouldn’t wake up.

After thirty minutes of waiting (you think, at least; you were never very good with time) you hear a tapping at your window, just like you had that first day Dave came over. You push the window open and smile, hoping Dave sees it. “Cute smile, nerd. Rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your fucking suitcase so I can catch it.” He whisper-shouts. You drop your suitcase and hope he catches it. Then you crawl out of the window, and as soon as your foot hits the tree branch, you fall. You brace yourself for the impact that never comes. “Hey, sweetheart. How y’doin’?” You hear Dave ask. You think his accent is pretty cute.

“Good now that you’re here. Ready to go?”

You hope that Dave smiles. “Sure am, baby."

You’re pretty sure that you’re kind-of-dating Dave now, but you don’t ask. Instead, you let your head fall against his chest and you sigh. You’re going to take a nap - you’re tired.

**Author's Note:**

> this thanking everyone one-by-one thing makes me feel like such a good person, which is good, because i don't usually feel like a good person.
> 
> i hope you all think i'm a pretty okay person and that i'm not doing this because i want more attention for my fics, or anything. i'm doing this right out of the genuine kindness in my heart. i am really so thankful for all of my readers, and i thought thanking them was in order - because without them, where would i be? nowhere!
> 
> thank you, if you read anything at all by me! <3


End file.
